


night watch (the seduction of percy weasley)

by thunderylee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Universe, D/s, F/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-10
Updated: 2005-07-10
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12854214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Hermione has an epiphany while working the overnight shift at the Ministry.





	night watch (the seduction of percy weasley)

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

Remind me never to undermine Shacklebolt again. I make one little suggestion about how he oversees the Auror Academy, and I get stuck on overnight guard for a week. At the _Ministry_ , of all places. Honestly, that’s _entry-level_ work. I’ve been out of the Academy for four years. I fought in the _Final Battle_ , for crying out loud. I stood alongside the famous Harry Potter as he fulfilled his prophecy. I’m responsible for a large percentage of the Death Eaters that are rotting in Azkaban at this very moment, because _I_ am a _damn_ good Auror.

And I’m on night watch at the bloody Ministry.

It probably didn’t help that I told Shacklebolt that the program was lacking. Lacking _what_ , I didn’t get to specify, but that’s a good thing. I’d like to keep my job, thanks.

On my very first night, not a soul is in the building. I’m surrounded by one of those deafening silences where my footsteps echo behind me and any sound I make is amplified by 100. The simple act of a quill rolling off my desk and clattering to the floor has me out of my seat and pointing my wand at absolutely nothing.

I’m glad Harry didn’t see that; he would have taken the piss out of me for months. He’s on assignment in some third world country, helping out the American Ministry with this Muggle war that they’re poking their unwanted noses into. Don’t get me started; I have a hard enough time keeping my opinions to myself concerning the British Wizarding World. Over ten years of pompous antics and Fudge is still in office. Enough said.

This is the type of bullocks I’m thinking about while watching the paint peel. Well, not exactly, since wizarding paint doesn’t peel, but you get the idea. I purposely didn’t read _The Daily Prophet_ at home so I would have something to do tonight, and I picked up damn near every magazine on the rack that looked the least bit interesting.

Staring at that month’s cover of _Witch Weekly_ , I realize that Harry would have a heart attack if he knew that I, Hermione Granger, asexual girl-by-definition (to him, anyway), was drooling over the Wizard on the cover.

Ron would scream his head off and maybe even disown me as a friend, simply because the Wizard in question is his brother.

Not Bill or Charlie; they would actually make sense. Maybe even the twins, since underneath the tasteless shenanigans, they’re still quite attractive. And come on, they’re _twins_. But no. Sadly enough, it’s Percy Weasley gracing the cover of _Witch Weekly_ this month, in all his egotistical glory – and I couldn’t stop looking at him.

Apparently, America has this Muggle reality television show where they give people full-body makeovers so that other people won’t think they’re ugly and not pay them any attention. That’s not exactly the promo line, but it’s pretty much the main concept. They have surgery on their faces and bodies, and the people that work for the show take them to the top hairstylists and designers. In the end, they look like completely different people, but they’re happy and I guess that’s all that matters.

I suppose I just don’t understand it. Sure, I’d like to get rid of the rat’s nest on my head, but that’s part of what defines me. Hermione Granger, the girl with the bushy brown hair. Even if I did opt to go on that show and change my entire appearance, I’d still be the same person inside. Eager to learn everything, determined to make a difference, loyal to the end. That’s me.

Percy didn’t go on that show, but he _did_ get quite an impressive makeover. According to my ex-dormmate Parvati Patil, who coincidentally heads the Gossip Department over at _Witch Weekly_ (shocking, I know), ‘Percy decided to achieve a new look in order to move on with his life after his messy divorce from secondary-school sweetheart Penelope Clearwater.’ He didn’t have any surgery, just a haircut and some new clothes. Which is quite amusing, considering the smirk on his face in the cover layout makes me want to rip off his clothes and mess up his hair.

Right. So the article goes on to describe how Penelope dismissed Percy because he worked too much (nobody saw _that_ coming) and anyway, she was completely enamored with somebody else. Oliver Wood, of all people. Funny, I thought he was gay.

Percy glamoured his hair short and spiky, just long enough to flip out. In one of the many pictures accompanying the article, he’s standing by the desk in his office, wearing the trademark green collared Ministry shirt with jeans. The shirt is inching up slightly on one side, showing off a slice of smooth skin and part of his belly button.

I have three immediate thoughts concerning that picture:

1\. Redheads look hot in green.  
2\. The flesh just above the waistline is my new favorite part of a man.  
3\. I was going to seduce Percy Weasley.

I almost laugh out loud at Number 3. Honestly, Percy and me? Together? It would have to be strictly physical. He’s four years older than me, he just got divorced, and he works all the time. We have absolutely nothing in common, except…

Except that we have _everything_ in common.

Realization smacks me in the face so fast that I nearly slide off of the leather chair onto the marble tile floor. Why haven’t I ever considered this before? We both live for our work, we’re insufferable bookworms, and we’re very passionate about the things we believe in. Granted, they’re completely different views, but at least it’d be an intelligent debate. I bet deep down, he knows that Fudge is an incompetent idiot; he simply continues to defend him out of loyalty to his boss.

Four years isn’t _that_ much, really. I’m almost twenty-six and he’s almost thirty. And I may not be divorced, but I may as well have been married. Harry and I dated for three years after we left Hogwarts. Yes, that’s right. We even lived together for the last year and a half. We’re still close – obviously, he was my best friend first and my first best friend – and we’re constantly laughing about the stupid arguments we used to get into over the littlest things. We would probably still be together if not for the epiphany he had after the Final Battle, where it suddenly dawned on him that he wanted to be with a man. Nobody saw that coming, either.

Harry would Apparate me directly to St. Mungo’s if he knew that I was actually contemplating pursuing a relationship with Percy Weasley. I would deserve it, because I tried to do the exact same thing to him when he told me that he was in love with Draco Malfoy. ( _Definitely_ saw that one coming.) They have been together for a few years now, though, so there’s hope for all of us.

Seducing Percy was easier said than done. We may work in the same building, but he was known (and made fun of quite often) for never leaving his office. He owled out for his lunches and spent the entire day wading through mountains of paperwork for Fudge. Twelve years at the Ministry and he’s still Fudge’s bit – I mean, assistant. He seems to enjoy it, though, so who am I to judge?

Anyway, it isn’t like we’re going to suddenly cross paths while I’m on this foolish guard duty. I don’t arrive until half ten, and I leave at the arse-crack of dawn. Rumor has it that Percy floos directly in and out of Fudge’s private fireplace. And besides, he probably has a flock of witches throwing themselves at him after that spread in _Witch Weekly_. I’d probably have to take a number and wait in line.

I look at my special Auror watch and see that, along with the current temperature and the fact that there is no dark magic being performed in a five-kilometer radius, it isn’t even midnight. I’ve only been here for a few hours, and already I’ve read every article in _The Daily Prophet_ and six random magazines. I would Summon something from the library to entertain myself, but I read every single book while I was in the Academy (because Shacklebolt’s training curriculum was lacking).

Propping my head up on my elbows, I vigorously rub my temples and sigh in exasperation. I need something to do. I’m so bored that I’m ready to owl Ron and see what he’s doing, but then I remember that the Cannons are on hiatus and he’s on some tropical island somewhere with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini.

Clearly, war changes people.

I’m about to check out Lavender Brown’s Astrology page in _Witch Weekly_ when I sense magical activity within the building. More like I _hear_ it, because it’s so quiet that even though it takes place three floors up and four corridors over, the tiny wisp of a spell being cast may as well be happening right next to my ear.

In one swift motion, I Apparate to the office in question and find myself wand-to-wand with Percy Weasley.

So much for not crossing paths.

“Hermione?” he gasps, at the same time that I exclaim, “Percy?”

We instantly lower our wands and share a dry chuckle.

“You have great reflexes,” I note. “Should’ve been an Auror.”

Percy scrunches up his face in disgust and scoffs. “Please. Me, an Auror? The rest of my family may wish to put themselves in danger on a daily basis, but I’m content _living_ , thank you very much.”

“I’m content living also,” I contest, taking offense. “There’s a substantial difference between capturing Dark Wizards for the good of the world and, say, inventing pranks that have a chance of blowing up the continent. It’s all about what you know; whether you arrive at the scene prepared for battle, or find yourself faced with an unexpected life-or-death situation. You can still be content living while in the line of fire, as long as you know how to cast the water charm when it gets too hot.”

Percy lets his wand fall to his desk with a _clang_ and turns to give me a blank expression. Slowly, the corners of his mouth lift in a smirk identical to the one on the cover of _Witch Weekly_.

“I suppose you’re smarter than the rest of my family, then.”

Did he just compliment me?

“Thank you,” I say suspiciously. “Now why are you here? It’s past midnight.”

“I could ask you the same question.” His rich brown eyes leer at me over the rims of his glasses.

“I’m on duty.”

Percy feigns shock. “ _Top_ Auror Hermione Granger – first in her class at the Academy, accountable for fifty-seven Death Eater and/or Dark Wizard captures since 2001, the proud recipient of ten O.W.L.s and _twelve_ N.E.W.T.s who shamelessly _passed up_ a spot alongside Hogwarts’ prestigious teaching staff… for guard duty?”

“Sod off, Weasley,” I huff bitterly. “This is my punishment for telling Shacklebolt how to do his job.”

“Miss Granger!” Percy clutches his hand to his chest. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

I narrow my eyes. “I don’t kiss anybody with this mouth.”

“What about Harry?”

“Harry’s mouth is currently preoccupied with various parts of Draco Malfoy.”

That certainly shuts him up. I’m beginning to rethink my previous intentions towards this man. We weren’t in the same room for five seconds before he blatantly degrades not only my job, but also my intelligence and decision-making skills!

In the midst of those biased assessments, however, there _were_ compliments.

“Why are you here?” I ask again, more calmly this time.

He clears his throat and crosses his arms uncomfortably. Looking everywhere _but_ me, he says, “I couldn’t sleep. I figured that I may as well get some work done.”

“What was the spell about, then?” I press. “Judging by the saturation of magic in the air, I’d say it was a Level Two or Three Transfiguration charm.”

A hint of red creeps up his cheeks. “I, er, had to fix my hair.”

“Your hair is styled with a Level _Three_ glamour charm?” I say incrediously. Not waiting for an answer, I go on. “At any rate, why would you possibly need to charm your hair at _midnight_? Who do you have to look good for at this hour?”

Percy reaches a hand back to scratch his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. His robes hang open, displaying a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt, the tails of which elevate when he raises his arm and… yes, there’s that entree of stomach flesh again, with a side order of boxers sticking out of the waistband of his trousers.

He says something just then, but I’m obviously too preoccupied to catch it.

“Huh?” I say brilliantly, jerking my eyes away from the torture.

He finally meets my eyes. “I _said_ , I knew you’d be here.”

“Oh.”

Very intelligent, Hermione.

“Oh really,” I try again.

Apparently, I survived a magical war and risked my life every day for the past four years, only to wish that somebody would AK me in the middle of Percy Weasley’s office.

“All right there, Hermione?”

No.

“Yes,” I say in what I hope is a calm and collected tone. I don’t think I’m very successful, because he raises his eyebrows and looks at me skeptically.

“Are you sure?”

No.

“Yes.” I examine my hands.

“Hermione, look at me.”

A million thoughts rush through my mind at that exact moment, but they all disappear when I reluctantly glance upwards. Words can not describe the expression on his face. Those caramel-brown eyes literally radiate with unadulterated intensity; his lips slightly parted in the briefest of smiles.

“You want me.”

Oh _gods_ , yes.

Wait. Was that out loud?

In a split-second executive decision, I choose to display more of my intellectual vocabulary.

“Huh?”

His smile turns into yet another smirk, this one worthy of Draco Malfoy. I think Harry calls it his trademark ‘I’m going to molest you with my eyes until you _come_ ‘ smirk. Trust me, I didn’t want to know that either.

All thoughts of Malfoy fly out of my head as Percy slowly crosses the room, heading directly towards me. I instinctively take a step back, only to find that I’m already up against the wall. Doorframe, actually, but that’s not really important.

“I find this entire scenario highly ironic,” he says in a low, sultry voice that I would have never guessed capable of him until this very moment. “For years, I have toyed with the idea of you and me – _together_ , if you will. However, there never seemed to be a good time to act upon it. All through school you were smitten with my youngest brother, and then I got married and you were with Harry. Now, in an interesting quirk of fate, we are here in the same room, both single and both entertaining the same impure thoughts.”

That about sums it up. I continue to stare in a dumbfounded silence, watching as he creeps closer and closer until he’s standing right in front of me, his breath warm against my face.

“What do you say, Hermione?” he asks. “Fancy making our dream into reality?”

I open my mouth to say something – _anything_ coherent, failing miserably when he reaches his hand up to brush away a strand of hair that I didn’t even notice had fallen in front of my eyes. His fingertips graze the top of my ear as he returns the hair to its place, the mere touch lighting a fire that spreads rapidly through my entire nervous system.

I’m obviously not thinking clearly, but I’m pretty sure my answer comes out “Ah-guh-huh-yah.”

That must suffice, because his fingers are back on my ear, tracing the outline of the lobe and continuing down my neck until he reaches the collar of my Auror robes.

He smiles enticingly as my body quivers in response. After searching my eyes for protest, he leans his head next to mine, ghosting my jaw line on the way. I feel his lips against my ear, soft and moist.

“Do you want this, Hermione?” he whispers, the sharp puffs of air and the depth of his voice nearly causing my knees to give out. “Do you want _me_? _All_ of me?”

On the word ‘all’, his hands grasp my waist and pull me flush against him, leaving no doubt in my cloudy haze of a mind what he’s referring to. The thick hardness is pressing unmistakably into my belly, pulsating with an aching need for attention.

I don’t trust myself to speak, so I answer in a more straightforward way. My hands snake between us and veer off to the sides of his chest, lightly grazing that intriguing stomach flesh with my nails.

He _groans_ into my ear, and this time my knees really do give out. I fall into his waiting embrace, and strong hands lift me up and gently push me back against the wall.

“I take that as a yes.”

He grinds his body against mine while removing one of my hands from his waist and pinning it behind my head. I feel his tongue tracing the inside of my ear as his free hand expertly unfastens my robes and slips up my jumper.

I arch into him and toss my head back as his hand slides underneath my bra and approaches my breast, lightly trailing his fingers along the curves. His lips skim behind my ear, softly sucking and nibbling his way down to the dip in my neck.

A brief flash of rational thought reminds me that this is backwards – my original plan was for _me_ to seduce _him_. In an attempt to gain control of the situation, I drag the nails on _my_ free hand towards the center of his waistline, directly above the part that’s now digging into my hip. My fingers slowly inch down until I reach the elastic of his boxers and hesitate.

“ _Gods_ ,” Percy mumbles into my collarbone. “Hermione, please… don’t stop…”

I find myself moaning as he tightens his grip on my breast, squeezing it firmly while flicking the nipple with his thumb. Without thinking, my hand dips inside his boxers and glides through the thick mass of curls until it wraps around his throbbing flesh.

He immediately thrusts harder and sinks his teeth into my neck, possibly deep enough to puncture, but definitely enough to make me stroke him forcefully, straining his erection against the confinements of his trousers.

As if he’s reading my mind, his hand drops down to quickly lower the offending material. His entire length presses against my bare stomach, the head dripping with precome. I quicken my pace as he tugs at the buttons on my jeans, finally prying them open and plunging inside my damp knickers.

I gasp at the initial contact of his cold fingers on my folds, but they warm up quickly as he runs them up and down a few times before immersing two of them into my wetness. He curls the digits and wiggles them back and forth, his thumb gliding over my clit in a circular motion.

“Come for me, Hermione.”

My whole body convulses as my orgasm overtakes me, a shrill version of his name emerging from my lungs. He continues to thrust his fingers inside me as I ride off the aftershocks, finally collapsing in a limp heap of flushed relief and half-dressed delectation.

In my post-release oblivion, I barely notice Percy hoist me up in his arms and carry me across the room. Setting me on the edge of his desk, he reaches for his wand and quickly mutteres two spells. I watch through heavy lids as all of the contents on his desk rearrange themselves in neat piles on the floor, followed by the desk’s surface transforming into a cushion-like padding.

He doesn’t waste any time laying me down and crawling on top of me, discarding our remaining clothing in the process. I look up at him and smile dizzily as he hovers over me, staring into my eyes with a quixotic look on his face.

I wait for him to say something, but there are no words uttered as he lowers his body flush against mine and easily angles himself inside me. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I dig my nails into his back and bite his shoulder to keep from crying out in pleasure. He grasps my hips, jerking me towards him to meet every thrust.

He doesn’t last very long, but that’s to be expected. Screaming my name loud enough to wake the owls, he pounds into me repeatedly before going over the edge. As he’s coming down from his high, he clings onto me and buries his head into my shoulder.

“That was brilliant,” he says, gasping for breath.

“Mmm,” I say sleepily. “I have to go back to work.”

Instantly, Percy jumps off of me and begins locating his clothes.

“Oh, my – I can’t believe we just did that. At the _Ministry_ , of all places! What were we thinking? We could have -”

“- been caught by the unlucky Auror assigned to guard duty?” I finish cheekily.

He gives me an insistent look while I make no effort to move from the comfort of my current position.

“Honestly, Percy, nobody is here. Calm down, will you? You act as if Fudge himself will suddenly decide that he needs to Apparate to _your_ office in the middle of the night.”

“That is entirely possible, I’ll have you know.”

Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I reluctantly heave myself off the desk and take my sweet time getting dressed. Straightening my Auror robes, I turn to him with a suspicious look.

“Why me?”

He glances up from where he was trying to return his desk clutter to its previous location. Wide-eyed and drop-jawed, he looks at me as if I’ve suddenly grown two heads.

“I thought I made that abundantly clear. I’ve fancied you for years. I was insanely jealous of Ron and Harry in the beginning, did you know? Despite our age difference, I wanted to be your friend. Perhaps more, as we grew older. Then I met Penelope and… well, that didn’t work out. She never really understood me. We’re very much alike, you and me. And, in my inconsistent ramblings, I’ve just realized that I haven’t kissed you yet.”

“No, you haven’t,” I agree, still processing the rest of the information in my head.

Percy’s face tenses and falls into a frown. “Did you think that this was just a casual thing? I do not make it a point to go around shagging random witches. On company property, even. I wouldn’t risk my job – the most important thing to me right now, by the way – unless it was worth it.”

He keeps talking while I stop listening. Instead, I walk up to him, cup his face in my hands, and capture his lips mid-sentence. It takes him a few seconds to adjust to this particular type of interruption, but eventually he relaxes and kisses me back, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close.

Just when I’m about to lose my mind, he abruptly pulls away. My eyes snap open and I set my jaw in irritation until I see the wicked grin spreading across his face.

“How long are you on night watch for?” he asks deviously.

“All week,” I reply. “Why?”

He smirks devilishly. “I think I might have to pull some more late hours at the office.”

“I certainly won’t mind the company,” I say.

I move in to kiss him again, but he halts me by jerking his head back.

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Remind me to thank Shacklebolt in the morning.”


End file.
